


through water

by irrelevant



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek (2009), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: F/M, I'm the captain damn it!, Identity Issues, M/M, Mind Meld
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-08
Updated: 2010-06-08
Packaged: 2017-10-10 00:20:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/93185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irrelevant/pseuds/irrelevant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim fails at cheating.  Again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	through water

I should tell Bones.

The regs are clear. Anything changes in your life, good or bad, it doesn't matter: your CMO needs to know about it. I'm captain but when it comes down to what's good for the other eleven hundred people on this ship Bones has my balls in his hand, and he knows how to squeeze.

I should tell him but I'm not going to. There's nothing he can do. I already know who can do something and I'm not asking until I have to, because asking is going to suck.

"Mister Chekov, what's our ETA?" I say, and he half turns in his seat and says, "Sixteen hundred hours plus eleven planetary time, sir. Arrival in approximately six minutes."

"Five point six one, to be precise," says Spock, and I roll my eyes.

"Thank you for that necessary clarification, Commander."

He has this thing he does where his mouth collapses in on itself. Like an Aldebaran shellmouth but with less pucker. I said that to his face once. You know, I don't think he appreciates me enough. Bones says we're both five. I say, yeah and?

And my eyeballs are drying out but Spock blinks first. I raise my eyebrows at him—still can't do one—and I start to swing my chair forward and wow. My eyeballs really are dried out.

It's vertigo, like what you get in flight simulations when you're green. I blink to clear my eyes and Spock's there in front of me twice, superimposed. None of his edges add up. The uniform is all wrong and Spock mark two isn't old guy Spock, I don't know who he is but this needs to stop, like, now.

I clamp my hands on the chair's armrests and I know my bridge crew is staring at me. I'm trying not to fall out of my chair. Spock notices, he's turning back towards me and the eyebrow, focus on the eyebrow.

Not old guy Spock, not unknown weird-uniform Spock. If I think it enough maybe the rest of me will catch on. He smirks without moving his face—how does he _do_ that?—and then I'm looking at his rear view again. Nice ass shot, Spock. Uhura should stand like that. Maybe I can get Bones to tell her that sitting eight-hour shifts is making her ass spread?

No, she'd know it was me.

"Mithras III in point zero five minutes."

Spock is a bad influence on that kid. An intervention is clearly in order. Bones suggested we take him dirtside with us this base, get him drunk and laid. Not on my credits, not this time. I'll be in my quarters trying to get my head screwed on right.

Sulu says, "Starbase 11," his hands move over the helm console, the burn of the warp drive fades out and Mithras III—Starbase 11—fills the viewscreen, purple and grey green wrapped in thin cloud mass.

"Transmission from base command. We are cleared to establish standard orbit," Uhura looks at me over her shoulder, "Two other ships already in orbit: a Tellarite freighter—the _V'shthran_—and the _Constellation_, relaying coordinates to helm now."

"Very well, lieutenant. Ahead thrusters only, Mister Sulu. Let's not run anybody over today."

"Aye, captain."

I shove to my feet. "You know the drill, kids. Eight to a transporter, ten minute stagger. Uhura, tell base command they can send their techs up after we're down."

"Yes sir."

"Spock, my quarters as soon as you're done over there. Sulu, the conn's yours, have fun." I grin at him from inside the lift, "Don't get attached," and I hit the door release. "E deck."

I don't need to wait around to see if Spock heard or if he's coming.

He always follows orders.

\--

I think about getting in his face and ordering him to make this thing in my head go away. I think about the last time I tried that. I think he'd kick my ass.

People like hitting me, I figured that out a long time ago. If I piss Spock off enough he'll hit me but he won't like it, so I won't. Piss him off, sure, but not that much. Right now I don't want to piss him off at all, which is weird because that's how we communicate. I flick, he jumps, call do-over until Bones breaks it up or Scotty starts with the commentary, or Uhura slams both of us.

You don't mess with what works and we work, if not like the old guy wanted us to. I don't think he got that me and Spock, we aren't him and—him. Not-me him, who needs to get out of my head and my chair.

The hatch signal goes great with the pounding between my ears; I say, "Yeah, come," and Spock steps through just as the comm whines at me. I check the link on my work console. Bridge, privacy channel, which means Uhura. I mouth _hold on_ at Spock and press the link: "Hit me."

She's thinking about it. Someday she will and my face will be in a world of hurt. That woman has a mean left hook.

"Transmission from base command on the priority channel," Uhura says like she wasn't just fantasizing smacking me around. "They've had a recent outbreak of Bergrade's Flu, strain two-a. It's contained, but Commodore lo Amaalt suggests we update vaccinations before we initiate transport procedures."

That's going to make Bones happy. "Notify sickbay and the transporter bays then do a ship-wide. Nobody gets on or off without McCoy's okay. And tell the techies they have to get zapped before they put their germy hands on my ship," I add, just because I can.

"Yes sir," is what she says. _You asshole_ is what I hear. Hey, we're communicating. Uhura is awesome like that.

"Love you too, lieutenant," I tell her, then I cut her off before she can tell me and the bridge how much of a dick I am.

Spock is staring a hole in my left ear; it's like having my own naked singularity of sucking disapproval. Aren't I special? I shrug at him, I say, "Murphy's Law," and he says, "I am unfamiliar with the reference."

"If something can go wrong it will. Twentieth century pessimism."

And we have eyebrow liftoff. "There is a convoluted form of logic in the premise."

"Not logic, Spock, it's common sense. Try it sometime," and okay, that was a little harsh. Spock's hands are locked behind his back; he's transferred his stare from my ear to a point somewhere over my shoulder.

"You wished to speak to me, sir?" Translation: Fuck you. Sir.

I get up and walk around the console; I shove a padd and a memory tablet out of the way and park my butt on the edge. I lean back on my palms and I look at Spock and I say, "I'm sorry."

Pretty sure he just blinked harder than usual.

"I was out of line. You know I have mouth problems." Come on, Spock, take it for what it is.

"Perhaps a consultation with McCoy is in order?"

Now he decides to grow a sense of humor. "Sure. Look, my head is killing me and I'm not into passive-aggressive, so I'm just going to say this." Deep breath. "There's something wrong with my brain."

Spock blinks again. I think back over what I just said. "How about I rephrase that."

"Clarification would be welcome."

I hate him. "I think you screwed up my head," and that gets me a blank look and I say, "Not _you_ you, other you," but it doesn't seem to get through.

"I find the implications of what you suggest difficult to accept. Forced mental contact is a crime punishable by telepathic neutralization."

Right, I forgot about that. "It wasn't forced," I tell him. "Remember Delta Vega?"

He makes a noise. Small, but it makes me look closer at him. His expression hasn't changed but he's giving off not-happy vibes like crazy.

"I have apologized for my actions. I had thought—you implied that you did accept—"

"It's not that." He opens his mouth and I say, "No, shut up. Right now I'm talking, and you are listening. When I'm done you can tell me I'm crazy."

"Very well, Captain."

He drops into unrestful-looking parade rest. The floor—deck, whatever—is mine. What was I saying?

"Delta Vega?" Spock suggests, and I frown at him.

"No talking, remember?"

"Then it appears there is to be no verbal communication whatsoever."

"I hate you."

"An unfortunate circumstance," he says. "You are, however, human and therefore entitled to your emotions, whatever they may be."

"That's my problem. Your double left his Kirk memories inside my brain and I'm not sure if these are my emotions or his," _speed wind scraping skin hair too long can't see quarry coming up too fast wait wait wait pull the fucking_ BRAKE

Does an eyelash flutter count as emotional reaction?

"Why have you not spoken of this previously?"

"I should have," I say. "I know that. Now. I thought I could handle it."

"To what purpose?"

"I'm new at this," wave at the cabin, the ship, Spock, everything. "The other guy was captain longer and he earned his command the extra hard way. Sometimes we hit a new situation and I just...know what I'm supposed to do."

His non-expression says he's not going to let me off easy. I give him ten seconds and when he's still staring at me like I'm a fascinating growth on his Petri slide I say, "I screwed up, okay? I'm sorry. I'm sorry for making the best possible use of every available resource."

"_Kobayashi Maru_," he murmurs.

"You sure you want to go there?"

"Do you never attempt to achieve your goals without a—cheat sheet is the correct terminology, I believe?"

"I'm not going there." I slouch a couple inches further down the console. I feel like I'm back in that auditorium, sweating inside my stupid cadet uniform at the podium while he pokes holes in my ego.

"As you wish." Smug pointy-eared bastard, I'm not looking at you, not giving you the win, then I catch movement in my peripheral vision and I jerk my head up. He's coming at me and his hand is out, reaching for my face.

I duck his arm and put the console between us. "I don't think so. Last time somebody tried that this happened." I point to my forehead and Spock looks at me like I'm one more distasteful duty in a long line of them.

"If I am to assist you," he says, "I must see what has been done to you."

He's got me there. I knew when I told him to come here I'd be dealing with another meld. I don't have to like it.

"Make it fast," I say, and I step away from the console and stand in the middle of the common area, the biggest empty space in my quarters. I hate feeling stuck and that's how I remember the meld—like I had no control over anything. I'm going to do this on my feet with lots of air around me.

Spock's in front of me with his hands hanging at his sides; he looks as uncomfortable as I feel which almost makes me feel better. He raises his hand and when he hesitates with his fingers just over my skin I say, "Dare you."

Yeah Bones, five, I heard you already, shut up.

You forget how wrong the pressure of having someone else's consciousness inside yours is. I think it's your brain's way of staying sane because feeling like your head is in a vice, about to implode, is not sanity. Pressure build-up in my temples is about to go critical, I'm trying to breathe and failing, then the pressure is gone but he's not, _my apologies, is this more satisfactory?_ and yeah, yeah that's a lot more satisfactory.

I try to get that across to him, _thanks_, and I'm not sure it works. How am I supposed to know how to talk to someone with my mind? There's probably all kinds of etiquette I don't know about that Spock will nail me for later. I can feel him moving around, man that's weird but at least he's not doing a thirty second info-dump. He's got time and he's being careful.

You don't actually think about your brain. Okay, I don't. I can see Spock and Uhura sitting around comparing cranial size, but I'm not big on navel gazing. My brain is just there. As long as it works I'm good, but I guess that's the point. It's not working too great at the moment, which is why Spock is poking around in it, making me more aware of what's inside my head than I have been since I dropped the Andorian version of acid my last year of mandated school.

Layers, hundreds of them. Screw cells, layers are what the brain is all about. Spock is all down and around and through mine; sometimes he brushes up against something and a memory hits me fresh, like it just happened. That might sound cool but trust me, I have a bunch of memories I'd rather not relive.

I suck it up and let him do what he needs to. This is my fault, Spock's trying to fix my mess and it won't help either of us if I whine every time he knocks something loose. He pulls back right away, sure, but it still feels wrong. Or bad, hell, I don't even—

_—know! Sam, why is your brother in the recycle chute?_ wait, I was _four_, how did _–if you're going into town take the boys with you, I'm going to miss my shuttle_ it's summer, she promised she was going to stay, she promised _Jim, no, my dad's going to kill me if I stay out past curfew again_ that mouth was amazing, golf ball through a garden hose, what the hell is taking so long, Spock, hurry up I don't _—think I can do this. Can't send you out there, can't send Bones, this thing is going to devour the entire galaxy if I don't but I—_

"Holy shit!"

I'm shoving myself away from him before my eyes are open and I backpedal until my ass hits the bulkhead. My skin is crawling where his fingers touched me, five pressure points wrong.

"That," breathing now, "that last one. Not me."

"Affirmative." He looks as freaked out as I feel. "This is not possible."

"Spock's pretty old. Maybe it was an accident?"

"He is old by both human and Vulcan standards and he has a better grasp of the mind rules than most living Vulcans. There was no error on his part." He's looking towards the port. It's a nice view but I don't think he's thinking how pretty the neighborhood gas giant is.

I say, "You can fix this, right? Erase his memories? I liked my head the way it was."

"They are not his memories and I cannot."

"But—"

"_I_ cannot. There are others who will assist you."

"When?"

I sound like a whiny kid stuck in an impulse-only shuttle on a two day flight. Spock must think so too because he almost frowns. "It will take approximately one point six days for a subspace transmission to reach the Antiraides colony, perhaps more for a return transmission depending on our location. Leave must be arranged, which will in turn mean temporary dry-dock as I do not believe Commander Scott would consent to spend more than a few days in command. The delay could be as much as a month."

I groan, "A month, perfect." And now he's giving me the Petri slide look again so I say, "Two shifts back I was on my way to deck ten. I ended up on the hanger deck. I don't know how I got there. Also, Rand keeps giving me weird looks. I think I said something dumb."

"The latter is not evidence of uncharacteristic behavior," Spock says absently.

"Yeah, but I can't remember _doing_ it."

There's your evidence, Spock. I don't forget it when I hit on a fine piece of ass. Except for that one time but the brownies were full of hash so it doesn't count.

Spock is flexing his right hand. I get the feeling he's doing it without knowing he's doing it. "You are experiencing short term memory loss."

"Blackouts, yeah." I cross my arms and rest the back of my head against the bulkhead. "You're the guy with the million credit brain, you do the calculus."

Checkmate. Either he relieves me of command or he does a quick fix, and I'm betting on quick.

See, I know Spock. He doesn't think I do but his stick-up-the-ass act isn't that hard to parse. If he relieves me and hands me over to Bones he'll be acting captain, and Spock wants a lot of things but command isn't one of them.

He likes riding herd on the science department and terrorizing the bridge from over my shoulder. It gives him more time to play with his simulations and investigate spatial anomalies, which is basically why he joined the Fleet. Out here we don't theorize scientific possibility. We watch it happen. Nothing like a new quasar to get Spock all geeked out, but it's hard to geek out right when you've got a ship to run.

"There is another possibility."

I knew he was holding out on me.

"I could attempt to block your neural reception of the memory imprint, sequester it from contact with your recall centers. But it is a temporary measure at best, and may not last until you are able to undertake the journey to Antiraides."

I grab onto the important part. "No more blackouts?"

"Affirmative, if I am able to successfully sever contact."

"Sounds good to me." I push myself away from the bulkhead and walk back to him. "Odds?"

Stiffer than a stiff, that's Spock. He looks me in the eye and he says, "Four-hundred and thirty-two to one."

"Cool." I grin at him, "I like long shots," and he answers with his fingers instead of his mouth. I shut my eyes when he touches me, but something he said finally hits and they pop back open. "Wait a minute. They're not his memories? What the hell is in there?"

"I will show you. My mind to yours," and then everything goes away but him.

\--

This time he knows where he's going and he goes right for it, dragging me with him. We're down together, input overload, choking on someone else's life. He said he'd show me … _in a different reality I could have called you friend_ … he is showing me and I see what he wants me to see … _could have saved her, do you know what you just_ … wrong perspective, these aren't … _he knows, doctor, he knowsheknowsheknows_ … Spock's memories, they're Kirk's, I'm … _not going to kill today_ ... in his life and everywhere I'm looking there's Spock.

_when I feel friendship for you I feel shame … Jim don't stop me, don't let him stop me … my quite logical relief Starfleet had not lost—_

(didn't know the stubborn bastard could smile like that)

_—mind is extremely dynamic … this simple feeling…_

(havebeenalwaysshallbe)

Forty fucking years inside somebody else's mind. Two minutes is too much but he (I) he wanted it, he _needed_ it and Spock, he was, he's—

_I am here, Captain_, my Spock, he's trying to pull me out but I'm caught in this feedback loop of me and not-me and dragging Spock in with me, I'm not me anymore I'm nothing, in _him_ and he's in Spock and I think, can't think, heat everywhere Spock's touching me, where I'm touching him, I'm inside _Spock_, fuck it's good so goodsogoodso

_silent, he always is when we do this but I don't need sound, I don't need him to be human for me in this or anything else, I need him to take me in let me take and he knows he gives he always has, doesn't matter what, his mind his body his life, he was gone now he isn't, he is not dead, Spock don't ever, don't, his eyes open, he reaches for me, Jim, he says it out loud and I'm_

Coming. Biting down blood, on my tongue, Spock panting into my mouth, he's right there with me and we're up against each other, no air between us. His dick is hard against my hip, starting to go soft, mine is too, in this together. His hand is off my face, down on my shoulder. His skin burns mine, his face is sweaty against my neck and my arms are tight around him, my hands fisted in his shirt. I turn my head a little and my mouth touches his too-hot skin, open up and I lick and I taste salt and blood and Spock, god, he tastes like he smells when he's next to me on the bridge, I know how he smells, I know and I _like_ it.

He makes a weird coughing sound and something else, his hand isn't on my face like it was but he's still in my head. No thoughts, presence. Heat. Spock. Cool with me and I nudge him with the side of my face so he knows but he's, shit, he's shaking, he's freaked out and he's shaking, blast door going down in my head and I can't feel him anymore. He shoves at me, hard, always forget how strong he is, I slam back into the bulkhead and pain reverbs down my spine and through my ears into my sinuses and my brain. Angles blurred, I'm sliding down, my ass says hello to the deck.

"Jim?"

My name, not captain not sir, must be worried. That's so weird. I'd tell him but can't feel my tongue (mud flea stupid vaccine Bones) my body says time to check out for a while. Blurred movement to port is Spock, is Spock standing over me. Tilt head, trying to see him, I blink I'm

(out)

\--

My back and ass need a month of leave. I think my tailbone already left. My come is drying my underwear to my dick, my mouth tastes like somebody else's blood, and Spock takes his hand away from my face and says, "Are you well?"

I open my eyes and he's crouched down in front of me. His lower lip is split.

I did that, it's his blood in my mouth. I lick my lips, "Copper."

"Previous to your final attempt of the _Kobayashi Maru_ simulation, your scores were among the highest at the Academy. I doubt this would have been the case had you failed standard xenobiology."

Nice try, Spock. FYI, lectures and mouth breathing don't mix.

I run my tongue over the edges of my mouth, trying to get all of him. I've done a few Orions; green skin or not, their blood was as red as mine. I never had a chance at a Vulcan. I tried and T'Leith was cute, but you know? There are only so many times a guy can take getting knocked across a chem lab.

Spock tastes like tech. I like it. "You wanna give me hand up?"

Without speaking he takes the hand I hold out and hauls us both up. He lets go before I've got my balance and I stumble, I knock into him but he pulls away from me, and he's leaving.

"Hey, hold up."

He stops two feet shy of the hatch with his back to me. "If there is nothing further, the controls in transporter bay two require recalibration before the platform may be used," he says, and my mouth says, "No," shit, that's not what, "I mean okay, fine. I'm trying to say thank you, would you turn around? I'll even say please. See? I said it: please."

His hair is all over the place. So's his uniform shirt. This is the messiest I've seen him since that Gorn colony chased us off Abraxis X. He looks like the ass end of epic sex and if he walks out of here like that, I'm dead. Uhura will have my balls and not the way I'd like her to. Or maybe she'll see his lip and bitch him out for fighting with me again. That could work.

"One does not thank logic," he informs me. "We will not speak of this again."

I cross my fingers behind my back. "Whatever."

"Concerning your…difficulties."

"You mean the voices in my head."

"Memory residue," he corrects me. "Fragments of a katra. I still do not understand why my counterpart transferred the imprint to you, but—"

I cut him off, "Don't worry about it. I understand enough for both of us."

"Indeed."

His shoulders are so tight, looking at them is making my back hurt more than it already does. He's fixing his shirt, tugging it down and smoothing out the wrinkles; he shakes his head once and his hair falls straight.

"Captain," he says, "You have my sincerest apologies on behalf of—myself. It is your right to air your grievance before the Council. Will you choose to do so?"

"Yeah, no, I don't think so. Come on, Spock." I take a careful step in his direction, "If you say you can fix it, that's good enough for me," and I touch his shoulder and he jerks around like I goosed him.

If he backs up one more time he'll be flat against the hatch. His lip has stopped bleeding. "Do not. Touch me."

I hold up both my hands and step back, _not touching, see?_

"I will contact my father. If T'Pau is able, she will no doubt assist you in this matter."

I'd ask who T'Pau is but I don't think that's a good idea right now. "Thanks man, I appreciate it."

He doesn't cringe. Doesn't tell me not to thank logic. This is bad.

"Sir, if you will excuse me?"

"Sure. I'll see you dirtside," but the hatch is already shut and I'm talking to air. "I think I broke Spock." Great. Now I'm talking to myself.

I scrub the last of the numb from my face and I back out of my work area and into sleep-space. Fall backwards onto my bunk and lie flat with my hands on my abs. Stare at the deckhead.

It's quiet in my head. Whatever Spock did, he did it right, if you can call messing with someone else's brain chemistry right. Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful, but it's still weird. I took the basic ESPer course at the Academy, it's required. They hand you a bunch of terminology and theory but you can't do anything with it because if you're not psi positive you don't have a reference point. Before I ran into old Spock I thought I knew what touch telepathy was. Case-studies don't have anything on the real thing. The real thing is scary as hell. Touch this synapse, press that nerve ending and you got it: one priority-class mindfuck coming right up. Good thing there's an easy cure, for me anyway. I reach over my head and engage the audio pickup.

"Sickbay, what the hell do you want?"

Even for Bones that's pretty bitchy. I can hear the eject and release of hypospray nozzles in the background. "Busy?"

"I've got three-hundred—" Punch. Release. "—two-hundred ninety-nine boosters to get through and a ship full of stir-crazy kids breathing down my neck. You tell me, am I busy? Chapel, get me another pallet, I'm low!"

I guess so. "How long?"

"An hour, hour and a half. These people were promised leave and they're going to get it as fast as I can give it to them." He pauses, then, "Why?"

"You know, paranoia is unhealthy. It would suck if I had to requisition you a shrink."

"Lord, what did I do to deserve this? Whatever it was, _I'm sorry_. Serve you right if I put in for reassignment, Mister Captain, sir."

"I won't sign the transfer," I tell him. "Transporter three, nineteen thirty."

"Wait a minute, Jim."

"What?"

Bones' eyebrows are as jumpy as Spock's, but his frown is in his voice. "I thought you were gonna stick around here."

"I have no attention span," I say. "I want a shot. And another shot. And girls kissing. And touching, each other or me. Even better, each other and me. And—"

"Fine, I get the picture." More hissing. "Go on, get out of here. Not you, Jim."

"I'm gone. Grab a shower, kick Sulu around the tatami a few times." Knock myself out so I can't go looking for a fight after I've had a few.

"If you're doing the latter, save the former for after."

"Sure, Bones. Nineteen thirty," I remind him. "Kirk out."

I hit the link and drop my arm across my eyes. What else was I supposed to say? Bones, I need a shower because I just dry-fucked Spock and now my dick is stuck to my pubes. And I stink.

My headache is still there; I think it got stuck in my right temple while I was busy coming. Everywhere else the pressure is gone but I can still feel something behind the blast door Spock pre-fabbed in there.

Sorry captain; one body, one katra. I got here first.

I sit up and pull my uniform shirt over my head.

\--

Getting out of my briefs hurts. I'm pretty sure I pulled half my pubes out. I shove my uniform at the recycler and limp into the head, and I almost ask for sonics but water works better on dried come. I don't know why, it just does. How's that for logic, Spock?

I bet he doesn't know either.

"Thirty degrees." I close my eyes and lean against the side of the sanitation cube and let the heat and wet beat my headache down.

I should clean up and get out, I'm falling asleep. Not surprising since my body thinks it just had sex, _my friend you are you are Jim_, black hair wrapped wet around my fingers and his mouth—

"Fuck!"

My knuckles hurt where I just rammed them into hard polymer. My hard-on is going down. I think _stay there, damn it_ at it and drop my head back against the cube.

I don't do guys. I like tits and pussy and curves; it's the most awesome feeling, fucking into a woman; not just your dick, all of you, she pulls you down and in and wraps herself around you, and it's the closest you can get to freefall outside orbital diving. I don't think about guys like that. Earlier, that wasn't me thinking. That was me reacting.

That was Spock reacting. I think it freaked him out more than me and I was seriously freaked out.

He came and I'll bet he hates himself for it now, but he liked it while it was happening. I know. I felt how much he liked it. I swear I felt him tighten up around my dick, not the other Spock, _him_. My orgasm and his and theirs, I felt all of it and I can almost understand why he—other me—would fuck a guy, be with a guy, if that's what it was like for them.

He, I, _I_ fucked Spock and it was color. Sounds stupid, yeah, but that's the closest I can get. Color you feel, you can touch it and it will touch you back, you're inside of it and it's in you at the same time, inside your brain, every cell in your body, and it sounds gross but it's not; it's hot. I'm hard again.

I am so screwed.


End file.
